Sixth: My Year of Falling Short

August 2021

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.
(Ecclesiastes 4:9‭-‬10)

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The main thing I remember about August was feeling of having to hit the ground running. Immediately after the Alaska trip (literally, one day after getting back), I started a new work schedule.

I had an incredible co-worker and fellow boarding tech. . . But she was fixing to return to college and would be drastically decreasing her hours, which meant that my hours would be drastically increasing to accommodate for this. Even then, it had seemed like a lot, but I thought I could handle it. . . .

A typical week schedule for me would have looked like this:

- Working an 8 hour shift (8am-4pm) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

- Working an afternoon shift (typically 1-4pm) Tuesdays and Thursdays.

- Working the weekend boarding shifts (which meant being at the clinic from 7-9am each morning, then returning to the clinic again in the evening at 4pm and staying as long as I needed to care for the cats) every other weekend.

I had no days off unless I was sick or requested them off a month in advance. . . Which meant that every other week I was working a 7-day work week! Judge me if you want. . . But that's a lot of work with no breaks in the week. . . On a low income vet pay. I believe I was being paid somewhere between $7-10 an hour.

I tried my hardest. . But I quickly started feeling overworked after a week of working the new schedule. But I refused to say anything, and felt like I couldn't. We were a small clinic (10 employees total) and there was no one else available. Still, I quickly started praying and begging God for help, to give me a moment of rest or a break or anything. I even went so far as to actually pray that I would get COVID-19. . . I was that desperate.

And. . . That's when I learned to be careful what you pray for. Lol He answered, and He answered quickly. I caught COVID swiftly and suddenly in the middle of one of my weekend shifts. I remember just this sudden immediate exhaustion slamming onto me, and my windpipe literally closing in on itself. I had to call my employer. . . And that was the start of their once-gentle demeanor toward me starting to slip away. I did indeed feel better after that break (despite being sick). . . But it did not change anything about my work schedule.

Or about the fact that was rapidly starting to become clear: that I was not and would not be receiving the vet tech training that was promised to start after I graduated. I would occasionally be pulled to shadow (or observe) the veterinarian and vet technicians and learn some more common skills (such as how to give an IV or change a needle). . . But those instances were becoming more and more rare.

There was a definite level of panic and defeat that started to build up, increasing the trapped feeling I already and making mental breakdowns more and more prevalent.

I threw away my college career- my future- to stay here and they aren't even training me!

I started to regret my choice more every day that passed. . . And feel more powerless to have control over the situation and pull myself from the path that I felt I trapped myself on.

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As my physical and mental life started to spiral, my spiritual state started to reflect it. I was in a constant state of fear, anxiety, regret, and isolation. I was still at my childhood church, but was not being fed into. I couldn't see any of my friends or Christian peers because of how often I was at work. . . And when I wasn't at work, I was too drained and exhausted to do anything else.

I got to see one of my spiritual mentors (we'll call her Mr. T because she'll come up alot) during this time after several months of trying to get together, and it was a huge relief to seek her help and advice. During our talk, Mrs. T told me that I was starting to allow myself to become spiritually oppressed. . And I was. To the point that it was starting to affect my prayer life and my spiritual gifting and calling. I remember this sensation of stepping outside after years of breathing stale air. . . It was a relief to have a word for the heavy, trapped, dark feeling I was experiencing that had spread into the deepest part of my being.

Oppressed. . . I'm being oppressed.

Mrs. T encouraged me to lean closer into God's presence and pray, trusting Him to provide for me and free me. However. . . She also gave me some warnings and urged me to listen. I. . . I wish that I had just listened and taken heart only a bit more.

She first warned me to stay away from the temptation (or pressure) to go onto any form of anxiety medication. I thought this would be an easy warning to abide by; after all, I had always had the personal feeling and conviction that I was never meant to go on any form of medication. In fact, it had been part of my hesitancy to go into therapy; the worry that eventually I would end up being pressured into going onto medications. Her warning had served as confirmation for me about this conviction. . . And I thought I would never go against it.

Her second warning was also an urge: find somewhere to be poured into. I needed to be fed into spiritually, and I wasn't receiving that where I was. It served as confirmation of a truth I had been trying to avoid: I had to find a new church community, and soon.

The third major thing Mrs. T had mentioned during our meeting was that she suggested I consider attending a special retreat. During this time, I paid no attention, feeling it hadn't gotten to that point yet. . . But I never forgot that she had mentioned it.

So as August reached an end, I started compiling a list of local churches with a college ministry. . . And worked up the courage to step out of yet another patch of familiar territory, and venture into the unknown.

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Another slower month. . . But the tension is building. September is really when stuff started to break down at a rapid pace. Feel free to ask questions or comment. Also, bonus poem for the first two months ⬇️ ***potential TW: depressive language***

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So Tired

I'm so tired. . . . Of silent tears tugging me into sleep.

I'm so tired. . . Of hurting when I have no wounds.

I'm so tired. . . Of being left behind. . . Of being ignored. . .

Anger and sadness battle inside me. . . Consuming my mind. . . Eating my heart. . . It reaches for my soul. . . But it's untouchable.

Alone in the place I once called home. . . Helpless, as my family leaves one by one. .

My pack moves forward and I'm stuck. . . I long to call out their still-visible shapes, but words die in my throat. . .

As I realize I am. . Physically. . . Emotionally. . . Mentally. . . Socially. . . Alone.

And I'm so tired. . . Of being lonely.